“Let it come, Nick. I reckon we can take care of it.”
“We’ll give it a try, at all events. See me again at noon, Chick.”
“Sure thing.”
It happened that morning that Moses Flood arrived at his gambling-house less than ten minutes in advance of Nick Carter. It was an hour, moreover, when there was rarely any business, and Flood found the house deserted by all except the attendant at the street door and the deformed cuekeeper on the floor above. Both were engaged in putting the place in order after the night game.
Flood at once mounted the stairs and entered the chamber previously described. At that hour, however, the room presented a vivid contrast. It was like looking at the bare stage of a theater seen by daylight. There was no game going, no excited players, no glare of electric lights, no clicking of ivory chips, no signs of apprehension, no precautionary measures. For the door of the room stood open, and John Green, the humpback, was engaged in wiping the glassware on the sideboard.
Flood appeared pale and haggard, like one who has passed a sleepless night; yet he was neatly dressed, as was always the case, and carried himself with habitual dignity and composure.
“Good morning, John!” said he, with a sharp glance about the room.
The face of the humpback lighted perceptibly, yet a certain anxious look in his tired eye betrayed his secret misgivings.
“Good morning, Mr. Flood!” he replied, a bit huskily. “You’re down early, sir.”
“Somewhat. Who has been here this morning?”
“Only Nate Godard, sir. He looked in for a minute, then said he had an errand down-town.”
“No one else has called?”
“Not a soul, sir.”
Flood suppressed a sigh of relief; yet, despite the assurance given him, his eyes again swept sharply about the room.
“What time did the game stop last night?” he asked.
“Just about midnight, sir. There weren’t many around after—after——”
“After I made my big losing?” queried the gambler, with a faint smile crossing his pale face.
“Aye, sir; that’s what I had in mind,” replied Green, with grave humility.
“Did young Royal show up again?”
“No, sir.”
“You saw what I did, John?”
“How could I help seeing it, Mr. Flood? I had to mark up the cues when you signed a card taken.”
“Did I do the job well, John?”
“Sure, sir—well’s no name for it!” cried the humpback. “On my word, sir, I was the most surprised man that ever sat shaking in a chair.”
“There was nothing for you to fear.”
“Mebbe ’twasn’t all fear, sir.”
“Be not surprised at anything I may do,” added Flood moodily. “Was any person wise to the play?”
“Never a one, sir,” declared Green, with emphasis. “All hands thought the losing was on the level. Not a man save us knows what you did, Mr. Flood. I’d stake my life on that.”
“For your life, then, John, keep the secret!” cried Flood, laying a heavy hand on his startled hearer’s shoulder. “Give me your word, your oath, man, that you’ll keep it, let come what may!”
“My oath ’tis, sir, then!” cried the humpback, with his hand impressively raised. “So help me God, sir, I’ll keep the secret!”
“Nor reveal it under any circumstances?”
“Never, sir, until you say the word.”
“For reasons of my own, John, I wish——”
“Oh, dash your reasons, sir!” came the impulsive interruption. “Your wish is enough for me. I’ve not forgot ’twas you who took me out of the streets and put me in the way of a decent living. I told you last night you could trust me. And I tell you now, sir, I’ll let go my life if need be to hide what you did last night.”
Flood dropped his hand from the man’s shoulder and took that of the speaker.
“I know that I can trust you, John,” said he slowly. “My only fear was that you might disclose the truth for my sake, should serious circumstances involve me.”
“Not I, sir, if you say not.”
“Understand me, John,” and Flood’s resonant voice grew strangely hard and grim. “I am now playing against a tough and hard game, the hardest a man ever has to face, and one that may bring me between life and death.”
“Good God, sir!”
“Nay, don’t start and grow pale. I know what I’m about and what I am saying. Mark well my words, and remember your vow. Under no circumstances, not even to save my neck from a hangman’s noose, are you by word or sign to betray my secret.”
The face of the humpback was the color of dead ashes, and its expression one never to be forgotten. Yet he again raised his hand and fervently answered:
“Never, sir, God hearing me!”
“If I ever wish the truth disclosed, I will inform you. Till then, let come what may, be silent—always silent!”
“Trust me, sir, my lips are sealed.”
“And if the gratitude of a man of my calling is worth anything,” added Flood, with a strange light sweeping over his hueless face, “if a gambler’s appreciation, a gamester’s thanks——Hush! Not a word! See who rang——”
A single note from the bell on the street door had sounded through the quiet house.
It caused Flood to start as if stung. His countenance changed like a flash. His features became hard as flint, and his eyes, in which were reflected the sad memories evoking his grateful words, took on a light like that cast from a blade of polished steel.
The humpback darted into the hall and peered down the stairs.
The attendant was just opening the street door.
Nick Carter, in the disguise of Joe Badger, stood on the steps.
“Hello, Peters!” he exclaimed familiarly, “is Moses Flood about?”
The goggle eyes of the humpback swept round to meet those of the gamester, standing as rigid as stone in the adjoining room.
“It’s only Joe Badger, sir,” he whispered hoarsely.
Again that fleeting expression of relief swept over Flood’s white face.
“Badger—at this hour!” he muttered darkly. “What does he want?”
“He says he must see you, sir.”
“Must?”
“That was the word, sir.”
“Must! Ha! What matters? Let him come up.”
The humpback called down the stairs:
“All right, Peters! Let him come up!”
And Nick Carter quickly mounted the stairs.
CHAPTER X.
A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE.
Though not particularly elated over having located Flood so promptly, Nick Carter felt considerable satisfaction in that he had accomplished it before Detective Gerry, who, he expected, might arrive upon the scene at any moment. That Flood’s arrest would immediately follow, unless Nick saw fit to prevent it, the detective had not a doubt.
The settled paleness of Flood’s clean-cut, forceful features when Nick entered the room was the only outward sign of his recent brief excitement. He greeted the disguised detective with a careless nod, saying indifferently:
“Good morning, Badger. What brings you here at this hour? There’s seldom anything doing before noon.”
“I know it, Mose,” replied Nick, with a glance about the room to learn who was there. “I did not come to make a play.”
“For what, then?” asked Flood, smiling curiously. “Merely to make a social call?”
“Not exactly that, either,” returned Nick. “I want a few words with you, Mose.”
“With me, eh? Well, Badger, here I am; so you may out with them.”
“If it’s all the same to you, Mose, I’d prefer to see you alone.”
Flood began to suspect that his caller wished to borrow some money, an experience to which he was by no means a stranger, and a look of less concern rose to his face.
“You may come to my private room, Badger,” said he, leading the way, and closing the door after they had entered. “Sit down if you like. Now, what can I do for you? Are you strapped, or running low?”
It was the same room in which Flood had paid Kendall his ninety thousand dollars, and, incidentally, included the deck of strippers with which he had dealt himself a loser.
Nick glanced about the finely furnished room, then took a chair near the table.
“No, Mose, I am not here to ask a loan of you,” said he, smiling. “I suppose I could have it, however, if I wished one.”
“I think it likely, Joe,” said Flood, sitting carelessly on a corner of the table.
“That’s like you, Mose,” remarked Nick, ready to note any change in the face of his hearer. “Well, I’m not here for that. I call with another object.”
“What object?”
“I have just come down from Fordham. I live out that way, you know.”
Flood started slightly and his dark brows drooped ominously.
“From Fordham?” said he, with eyes searching Nick’s.
“Exactly,” nodded Nick. “You’ve not heard the news, I take it?”
Yet Nick was already convinced that he was right in his suspicions, and that Flood already knew of the murder. To learn what attitude he next would take was Nick’s immediate motive, on which his own course necessarily would depend.
“To what news do you refer, Joe?” Flood coolly inquired.
“It’s about that chap who made a big winning here last night. I was present at the time, you remember.”
“Yes, I remember. But what about him?”
“Dead!” said Nick tersely.
“Dead!” echoed Flood, with well-feigned amazement.
“Murdered,” added Nick.
“Murdered! Impossible!”
“It’s a fact, Mose.”
“When and where?”
Though he now saw that Flood had already resolved upon some fixed line of conduct, Nick was determined to drive him to the wall.
“He was killed about nine o’clock last night, Mose, near the house of Doctor Royal, the Fordham rector.”
“You amaze me! Cecil Kendall dead! Are you sure of this, Badger?”
“Rather,” nodded Nick. “I saw the body myself. He was found near the library windows, stiff as a poker, with his head crushed in with a club.”
“Dreadful! Horrible!”
“So ’tis, Mose, but there’s no doubt about it,” continued Nick, watching him as a cat watches a mouse. “They are dead sure it is a case of murder.”
“Whom do you mean by they?”
“Detective Gerry and the police. They are out there looking for evidence.”
“Gerry, of the central office?”
“The same.”
“God above!” exclaimed Flood, playing his part to perfection. “I can hardly believe this, Badger.”
“You’ll find it’s true, all right,” declared Nick. “The poor devil’s winnings didn’t do him much good, Mose. I reckon robbery was the motive, for the satchel is missing which you loaned him to take away the stuff.”
“How do you know I loaned him the satchel for that purpose?” Flood now demanded, with a harsh ring creeping into his heavy voice.
“Oh, I merely guessed at that, Mose; and it looks likely enough. You heard young Royal’s threats, too. Mebbe he was the chap who did it.”
Flood sprang down with an oath.
“Not on your life, Badger!” he cried vehemently. “Royal’s threats were the ravings of a drunken boy. He cannot have done it. It isn’t in him to have done it. For your life, Badger, if you’re a friend of mine, don’t ever hint again that Harry Royal committed this crime.”
A curious gleam showed for an instant in Nick’s keen eyes, but he gave no expression to the thoughts that occasioned it.
“You’ve got no better friend than I am, Mose, you can gamble on that,” he declared significantly.
“Possibly not.”
“It’s only because I wish to do you a good turn that I am here.”
“Do me a good turn!” echoed Flood, with eyes now glowing suspiciously. “What do you mean by that, Joe Badger?”
“Can’t you guess what I mean, Mose?”
“By no means.”
“You ought to.”
“Well, I can’t,” cried Flood, with rising resentment. “Speak plainly. What do you mean?”
Nick now drew forward in his chair and replied with lowered voice and more impressively.
“I’ll tell you what I mean, Mose,” said he. “I was on the spot when this trick was turned and I heard all that was said. Gerry has found the weapon with which Kendall was killed. There’s no doubt about it!”
“Well, what of it?” demanded Flood, in perplexity too genuine to be doubted. “Suppose they have found it? What’s that to me?”
“Much!”
“Why so?”
“The weapon, Mose, was a heavy ironwood cane, the same which you carried when you left this house at eight o’clock last evening. The murder was committed one hour later.”
Despite the rigid control he was imposing upon himself, which was plainly obvious to Nick’s keen discernment, Flood now started slightly upon hearing the detective’s disclosures. Nick saw at once that he had brought the gamester at least one item of news, and that Flood, whatever he knew of the crime, was ignorant of the means employed.
In an instant, however, though his face grew even more pale, Flood again had his feelings under rigid control.
“Are you sure of what you are saying, Badger?” he slowly demanded, with voice grown strangely hard.
“Dead sure of it, Mose.”
“That Kendall was killed with the cane you describe?”
“The evidence is conclusive. It is an ironwood cane with a large silver head.”
“That’s like mine.”
“It was found hidden under some brushwood near the rear wall of the grounds,” continued Nick. “It was covered with blood; and bits of scalp and hair, plainly those of the murdered man, had cleaved to it.”
Flood heard him without moving from his seat on the edge of the table, and with never a change in his set, white face.
“This is strange, Badger, on my word,” he said firmly.
“There is another bad feature, Mose.”
“Still another, eh? And what is that?”
“The cane was identified by Doctor Royal as belonging to you,” said Nick pointedly.
“That so?”
“He declared that he had seen you carrying it many times, and that gave Gerry the clue for which he was seeking. He said that you must be landed without delay. He may arrive here at any moment to arrest you.”
Still Flood neither moved nor changed.
“Let him come,” said he, with icy indifference.
“You’ll stand for it?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll not attempt to escape?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I prefer to face the music. Don’t ask me why. That’s my business.”
Nick began to see his way more clearly. Had Flood imagined for a moment that his visitor was Nick Carter, he would have appreciated the difficulty of hiding his true feelings and designs, and quite possibly have proceeded differently. As it was, Nick was steadily getting at the truth; yet he still had much to learn, and he saw that Flood had resolved upon some fixed design which he by no means would voluntarily disclose.
Nick was equally determined to discover of what the design consisted, as well as the motive for it, and he now pressed home the weapon he knew would wound deepest, and possibly evoke a self-betrayal. With a grave shake of his head, he slowly answered:
“True, Mose, it is your business. But I told you just now I was as good a friend as you have, and when Gerry spoke of arresting you I hastened here to head him off and warn you of your danger.”
Flood relaxed a little, as if he appreciated the service mentioned, and gravely answered:
“That was very good of you, Badger, and you meant well. But I am not a man to run when danger threatens. I’ve been up against it too many years.”
“You’ll let them arrest you, eh?”
“I shall make no move to prevent it.”
Nick’s grave voice took on a subtle ring.
“On the contrary, Mose, I think you will.”
“You think I will!” exclaimed Flood, with a dark frown.
“Precisely.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because it does not suit me, Mose, that you shall be arrested for Kendall’s murder.”
“Not suit you! Why so?”
“For a very good reason. If robbery was the motive for the crime, I happen to know that you did not commit it.”
“What do you mean?” Flood hoarsely gasped. “How do you know it?”
“Because no man would kill another for money voluntarily lost to him within an hour,” cried Nick sharply. “I was wise to your play last night. I saw you deal a very clever brace game, and yet you made yourself a loser. With a deck of strippers you forced Kendall to win the money for which he afterward was slain—but not by you, Moses Flood! I’ll stake my life upon that, let the evidence be what it may. You——”
“Your life! God above, Badger, if you value that life, listen to me!”
Nick’s rapid verbal thrusts had accomplished just what he had expected.
Yet the change that had come over the gambler was one to have startled and alarmed most men. As he heard the words that told him his secret was known to another, Flood became ghastly white, sat silent for a moment, then suddenly sprang down from the table, gave utterance to the interruption noted, and seized Nick by the throat.
“You are mad—mad!” he fiercely continued, with eyes blazing and his voice choked with rage. “I did nothing of the kind. My loss was on the level. If you ever breathe another word of this, Joe Badger, I’ll throttle your life from your body. I tell you——”
“Let go, Mose, or you’ll have done it here and now!” cried Nick, struggling to his feet and throwing off the impassioned man. “I know what I saw last night——”
“You lie! You lie!”
“And I’m out to learn the truth, Mose, the whole truth——”
“Stop! Hark you!” interrupted Flood, livid with passion. “I say you are wrong—wrong—wrong! If you ever again assert that I dealt a false card last night, so help me Heaven, I will——”
Clang!
Again the street door-bell rang loudly through the house.
Flood instantly dropped his hand from Nick’s collar, abruptly terminated the threat he was about to utter, then turned like one electrified and sprang to open the door of the outer room.
The humpback, with eyes starting from his head, appeared on the threshold.
“God in Heaven!” he cried hoarsely, with his uncouth face convulsed with alarm. “It’s Detective Gerry, of the central office.”
Nick saw and heard, and his bearded features took on a look of sudden passionate resolution. With a bound he reached the gambler’s side and threw him back toward the table, at the same time crying, with terrible sternness:
“Hark you, Flood! Not a word! You must escape! Your arrest must be prevented! Leave this detective to me!”
Nick Carter’s influence at such a critical moment was irresistible. Moses Flood, scarce knowing why, recoiled from the terrible look on the detective’s face, and Nick instantly strode into the outer room, closing the door behind him.
The humpback was already darting to secure the heavy door leading into the hall, with a view to preventing Gerry’s entrance.
Before this could be accomplished, however, the central office man, who had bounded up the stairs, and saw the swinging door, hurled himself forcibly against it and came nearly headlong into the room.
“Oh, I say, Gerry!” cried Nick coolly, “what’s the meaning of this?”
Gerry glared at him, as he recovered his equilibrium, but failed to recognize him. Whipping out a document from his pocket, he cried sharply:
“It means that I have a warrant here for the arrest of Moses Flood. Where is he?”
“Arrest of Flood, eh?” rejoined Nick, with a derisive laugh. “Why the devil didn’t you come in on horseback to serve it?”
Gerry, who was an impulsive fellow, though a very capable officer, resented the remark with an ugly snarl.
“None of your durned business!” he cried angrily. “I’d have come in an automobile if I’d wanted to.”
“You might have come in a balloon, Gerry, for all I should have cared,” retorted Nick.
“Oh, is that so?”
“Flood’s not here, as you may see for yourself. It’s a bit early for him to show up. Come down at this hour of the night, Gerry, and you’ll find him. There are but few of us owls out in the sunlight.”
“Evidently you’re looking for trouble, mister,” snapped Gerry, with a threatening nod at Nick. “I happen to know that Flood is here, for Peters said so at the street door. He’s not so far away but that——”
“Stop a bit!”
“Not I!” thundered Gerry, drawing a revolver. “If you interfere with me, my man. I’ll let daylight into you.”
And before Nick could prevent him the central office man sprang aside, bounded to the door of Flood’s private room, and violently threw it open.
One glance into the room was sufficient.
Even Nick Carter was startled and momentarily amazed.
For the private room, despite that the windows were thirty feet above the ground, and only one door visible, was found to be vacant.
Moses Flood had vanished as mysteriously as if the walls of the room, or the floor itself, had opened and swallowed him.
CHAPTER XI.
NEW CLUES.
As Gerry drew back, amazed at not finding Flood in his private room, Nick caught one swift, significant glance from John Green, the humpback, whose face had lighted like that of nature after a summer shower.
The glance spoke even louder than words, and it told Nick what he already had begun to suspect—that a secret door existed, concealed in one of the walls of the room, by which Flood had easily made his escape.
That he had decided to do so, moreover, suited Nick to the very letter; and, with a cautionary wink at the humpback, he observed derisively:
“You’re down on a dead card, Gerry, that’s plain enough. I told you that Flood was not here, and as you now may see for yourself.”
“But Peters informed me——”
“What Peters told you is of no consequence,” interrupted Nick. “It is half-an-hour since Peters admitted him, and Flood has gone out meantime.”
Much to his own satisfaction, Nick now felt tolerably sure that he spoke the truth, and that Flood had for some reason changed his mind and resolved to evade arrest. With a keen insight that was eminently characteristic of him, moreover, when measuring men’s motives from their conduct, Nick already suspected the occasion of the gambler’s change of mind.
Nick did not defer his departure, therefore, merely to have further words with Gerry. Leaving the latter to take what action he pleased, he bestowed upon the humpback a wink that plainly advised a discreet silence, then coolly marched down the stairs and out of the house.
He had accomplished more than superficially appears, as will soon become obvious, and had paved the way for another curiously artful move.
It was nearly noon when he left the gaming-house, and having removed his disguise at an opportune moment Nick next headed for the Milmore Trust Company, to have a word with President Gilsey.
Just as he was approaching the bank building, however, he saw a flashily clad young lady emerge, none other than Gilsey’s stenographer, then about going to her lunch.
The instant Nick saw her he was struck with an idea, and, as previously remarked of Nick, to think was to act. He quickly intercepted the girl, to whom he said a bit curtly:
“You are Miss Belle Braddon, aren’t you?”
Belle arched her brows, stared at him for a moment, then pursed her red lips, and replied:
“Yes, that’s my name. But, really, I don’t recall you, neither your face nor your name.”
“Oh, yes, you do,” said Nick, with a rather impressive nod. “You just think a bit, and you’ll presently speak it.”
“Dear me, is that so?” queried the girl, in tones of insolence. “Ah, now that I look again, I believe I do. You are Detective Carter, are you not?”
“Right!”
“I saw you in Mr. Gilsey’s office yesterday, did I not?”
“Right again, Miss Braddon. And there’s a question I wish you to answer.”
“Indeed?”
“Why did you tell Moses Flood that Kendall was short in his accounts?”
Nick asked the question in a way that sent the color from the girl’s cheeks, and her eyes betrayed that he had hit the nail on the head.
Yet Miss Braddon flushed hotly after a moment and curtly said, with a resentful frown:
“I did nothing of the kind.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I did not! Why do you say so?”
“Because I know that Flood learned of it, and you’re the only person, except Mr. Gilsey, who could have told him. Now, why did you tell him?”
Belle Braddon shrugged her shoulders, hesitated for a moment, and then indulged in a low, mocking laugh.
“Your assertion is really too absurd, Detective Carter,” she glibly replied. “To begin with, I did not know that Kendall was short in his accounts; and to end with, I have not seen Moses Flood for a week. You think I’m lying, eh?”
“Well——”
“Oh, I see that you do, so don’t deny it. Come round and call on me some evening, Detective Carter, and we’ll talk it over—or have a game of ping-pong, if you prefer. I mustn’t be seen talking too long with a man on the street. It’s not good form, you know; so I’ll bid you good-by.”
With which Miss Braddon gathered up her skirts, gave Nick a nod and smile of the chip-on-my-shoulder type, then tripped away without a look behind her.
Nick knew that she had lied, but it served his purpose to let her go. Yet he grimly said to himself as he entered the Trust Building:
“Don’t be too sure that it’s not au revoir, young lady, instead of good-by. I now suspect you of cutting in this affair a figure bigger than a cipher.”
Nick found Mr. Gilsey in his private office, dismayed by the news he had received, not only of Cecil Kendall’s murder, but also of the latter’s recent career, plainly indicating that the deficit at the bank was a deplorable probability.
“I now have experts at work on the books, Detective Carter, and we shall soon know the worst,” said he, after their greeting and a brief discussion of the crime discovered that morning.
“I am like a man in a nightmare,” he added. “I can scarcely realize what has occurred, and hardly know where I stand.”
“That’s not to be wondered at,” said Nick. “The situation is serious enough surely, but I shall continue my work on the case and do the best I can with it.”
“You have said that Kendall won a large sum of money last night, of which he was robbed. Do you think there is any possibility of recovering that money?”
“I certainly shall try to do so, Mr. Gilsey.”
“I hope you may succeed.”
“I shall make every effort, sir. There are several questions I wish you to answer, and I must then hasten away upon other work bearing on the case. To begin with, Gilsey, has Kendall been observably friendly with your private stenographer, Miss Braddon?”
Gilsey looked surprised for a moment, then answered:
“Why, yes, I think that he has been. They have frequently lunched in company, and I have heard of them at the theaters together. I cannot, of course, say to what extent their intimacy has gone.”
“It does not matter particularly,” replied Nick. “You stated yesterday that she lives with her uncle.”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
“He is one of our depositors. His name is Godard—Nathan Godard.”
“Oh, ho! Flood’s lookout at the faro-bank!” Nick exclaimed to himself. “By Jove! this affair is shaping itself up in a new light. I begin to scent a rat.”
With no betrayal of his momentary surprise, however, Nick presently said aloud:
“How large a deposit does Godard carry here?”
“Several thousand dollars at times.”
“Flood’s money,” thought Nick promptly. “Deposited in Godard’s name.”
“It is comparatively small now, however, amounting to only a few hundred dollars,” added Gilsey. “Surely, Carter, you do not suspect my stenographer or her uncle of having any part in these crimes?”
Nick did not tell him what he suspected. Instead, he said gravely, as he took his hat to depart:
“I am not prepared to make any statement, Mr. Gilsey. I have, however, a bit of advice to give you, which I wish you to promptly follow.”
“And what is your advice?”
“Get rid of your stenographer with the least possible delay, Mr. Gilsey.”
“Good heavens!”
“When she returns from lunch, sir, discharge her immediately, and without a recommendation,” added Nick. “If she asks you why you do so, inform her that Nick Carter advises it! Nay, even more than that, tell her that I command it.”
“But——”
“There are no buts, Gilsey,” protested Nick emphatically. “Either do this, and do it this very day, or up go my hands and I drop the whole case. I do not give such instructions as these without an object. When the time comes, Gilsey, you shall know why I insist upon this.”
Gilsey did not fancy the expression on Nick’s face, and he wisely pulled in his horns.
“Why, certainly, Carter, if you put it in that way,” said he. “I will discharge Miss Braddon the moment she returns.”
“Very good.”
“But I fail to see——”
“You will see at the proper time, Gilsey, take my word for that,” interrupted Nick. “Now, there is one more thing.”
“Well?”
“Write Nathan Godard at once, and instruct him to withdraw his deposit. Give him no reason, mind you, but insist upon his closing his account here.”
“Well, well, this is a curious proceeding——”
“He’ll not think so, Gilsey,” Nick again interrupted significantly. “He’ll comply without an objection, take my word for that. Look to it, Gilsey, and leave all the rest to me. I’ll turn a trick for you of some importance, old chap, before this case ends. But no more on that subject just now. I must be off at once.”
Leaving the banker to stare and wonder, Nick hastened from the building and headed for home.
“Nathan Godard, eh?” he grimly soliloquized, as he walked briskly away. “Uncle to Belle Braddon, eh? And she has been hand and glove with Kendall, eh?
“Why, it’s as simple as two times two. The girl is queer from her feet up, a clever crook, secretly a capper for the game at Moses Flood’s. As likely as not, Mose does not know of it, but I’d go my pile that Godard has been using the girl for a decoy.
“It’s a hundred to one that she started Kendall on the down grade and lured him into Godard’s clutches. When a girl of her stamp works at a respectable vocation, it is invariably with an evil design. From the day she sought employment in that bank, the jade had Kendall marked for her secret prey; and Godard opened an account there only to give things a better look to the poor devil.
“Well, well, he has danced his dance and has now paid the price. His blood is on some man’s hands, and I must learn whose. Luckily, I now know some hands that are still clean, despite the mass of evidence to the contrary. Unless I am greatly mistaken, I shall give that central office sleuth, Gerry, a queer feeling before this case goes upon record.”
Thus musing, Nick hastened home, where he found Chick just returned from the Carleton Chambers and a call upon young Harry Royal.
“Well, what did he have to say for himself?” asked Nick, the moment he entered.
“He spoke fairly enough,” replied Chick, laying aside his cigar. “He says he did not go to Fordham last evening, but went directly from the faro-bank to his room in the Carleton Chambers.”
“He’s a liar!” exclaimed Nick, frowning.
“Ah, you’ve struck a clue, eh?”
“A thread, Chick—merely a thread. Yet I’ll wager I know to what it leads. I’ll not delay to explain, for I want a crack at that young man myself. Did you leave him at his lodgings?”
“Yes, less than half-an-hour ago,” nodded Chick. “I think you’ll find him there, for he appeared badly knocked out, and said he was as sick as a dog.”
“The result of a week’s debauch,” growled Nick censoriously. “It serves him right. Did you inform him of Kendall’s murder?”
“He had already heard of it, Nick, and that Flood is suspected of the crime.”
“H’m! So the news has spread, eh? Well, I’ll soon settle that chap’s breakfast. I want a bout with him before others can get in a blow. Just wait a bit, Chick; I want your opinion of a disguise.”
Nick hurried from the room and Chick resumed his cigar. At the end of ten minutes the former returned, yet one would never have known him.
His figure was slightly padded, his brows darkened, his lower features heavily bearded, and he was tastefully clad in a suit of black, with a generous display of immaculate shirt-front and a piercing solitaire stud.
Barring the heavy beard, Nick at that moment was a counterfeit presentment of—Moses Flood.
CHAPTER XII.
DRIVEN TO THE WALL.
To strike while the iron is hot, to seize upon every clue while it was fresh, to be alert for the least sign, the slightest word, the fleetest glance, that might even remotely suggest the key to a mystery, and then to quickly follow every thread, however finely spun, and discover whither it led—all this was characteristic of Nick Carter, and to it he owed much of his success.
Few detectives, however, though of the shrewdest, would have discerned the spider-web clues which Nick had that morning detected, or have been able to turn them to the best advantage.
It required a man of Nick Carter’s superior art to execute the delicate and superlatively crafty move that took him to the Carleton Chambers.
The room occupied by Harry Royal was on the third floor front, and the occupant was alone when Nick, disguised as described, rapped sharply on the door.
For fully a minute there was no response from within.
“Fear!” said Nick to himself. “The terror born of conscious guilt is upon him. He dreads every sound, fears every visitor, yet dares not leave his chamber. Solitude and secret dread are preferable to the voice and eyes of an accuser.”
Nick rapped again, louder.
Then a step within echoed the sound, and the door was finally opened.
Harry Royal, sober enough now, and as white and haggard as if from a long illness, appeared on the threshold, his boyish figure clad in a long, loose house robe.
Nick fell as cleverly as an actor into the part he designed to play.
“Hush!” he instantly whispered, with startling intensity. “I see that you’re alone! Not a word till I am under cover! Let me come in.”
“Who the devil——”
“First let me come in,” persisted Nick, fairly forcing his way into the room. “I may be seen here, recognized, arrested on the spot. It’s for your sake I am here, Harry Royal, as well as my own. Now close the door and lock it. I am taking long chances for these few words with you.”
The terrible fear of arrest expressed and displayed by Nick, even more than his feigned voice of the gamester and the latter’s almost habitual attire, suddenly suggested to Royal the possible identity of his disguised visitor.
“Good heavens!” he exclaimed under his breath. “Is it you, Mose Flood?”
“You’d not ask that question were I to doff this disguise,” replied Nick, with bitter asperity. “Have you locked the door? Don’t open it, then, for man or devil, without first giving me time to hide. I am wanted for murder! Do you hear? I am wanted for murder!”
With a mighty effort Royal had pulled himself together, yet his hueless cheeks and dilated eyes, burning as if with fever, betrayed his consternation and dismay. He tottered to a chair near the table and sank into it as if his limbs refused longer to support him.